


You Stink

by onecent



Series: Eyes and Ears [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel
Genre: Eyes and Ears, First Aid, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onecent/pseuds/onecent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a grueling fight, heroes Hawkeye and Daredevil retreat to a safe house where they can get patched up and find refreshment in drink and friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Stink

**Author's Note:**

> I said I would do it, and I did it! Here you go, [TraceJace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TraceJace/pseuds/TraceJace), because you asked.
> 
> The summary makes this thing sound way more serious than it is.

"Ow!"

"Oh, shut up. It's just a sprain." Matt stopped to readjust Clint's arm across his shoulders and grab him more firmly around the waist. "And we're almost there."

"How do you know? It could be broken. Does your super sight thing let you see bone now, too?"

"No, but I know a lot about injuries by now. We checked it. You said it wasn't hurting at any of the pressure points, and you're still putting some of your weight on it. You should still probably go to a doctor tomorrow, but for now I just need you to get this door for me. My hands are a little full."

Clint reached forward with his free hand and checked the doorknob. "It's locked," he said.

"Of course it is," Matt sighed. "Okay, well, how mad do you think your buddy will be if we have to kick down the door?"

"Very. Hold on, I'm gonna look for a spare. Can you slide me in closer so I can check the door frame?"

Matt shuffled in coser. Clint reached up and slid his fingers along the top of the door. He pulled away with a pleased noise and a slightly cobwebbed key.

"Isn't it dangerous to leave a key out like that? Especially in this city, and with such an obvious hiding spot?"

Clint scoffed. "Are you implying that New York is _not_ the safest city in the world?" Then he chuckled. "Okay, yeah, I guess. Anyway." He unlocked and opened the door. "All right, mi casa es su casa. Or, uh, mi friend's casa...what is that in Spanish? Amigo's casa?"

"Please stop," Matt said. "Let's get you sitting down."

The two men hobbled into the apartment. Matt used his foot to kick the door closed behind him. They staggered together to the couch, where Clint slumped happily onto the cushions.

"Oh, thank god," he said, sprawling face-down.

"Clint," Matt huffed, "we just got done fighting sewer monsters."

"And I'm exhausted!"

"Maybe if you were rubbing your stink all over your own couch I wouldn't say anything. But as it is, you need to sit up and tell me where to find the first aid kit so I can wrap up your ankle and clean out my cuts."

Clint sat up immediately. "Your cuts? I didn't realize you got hurt."

Matt shrugged. "It wasn't anything that serious, but I'd rather not get an infection."

"Right, yeah. Okay. Check under the sink. I think in the bathroom. Maybe the kitchen."

Matt began searching the apartment under Clint's direction, but they were unable to find the first aid kit. Eventually Matt, frustrated, grabbed a fifth of whiskey out of the cabinet and some thin dish rags from a pile under the kitchen sink.

"What the hell?" Clint asked as Matt approached. "Where did you find that?"

"The kitchen," Matt replied.

"What the hell is she doing with that kind of alcohol?"

"What?" Matt ran his thumb along the neck of the bottle. "Why? Is it bad for her to be drinking?" He paused for a moment. "Wait, whose apartment are we in? I suddenly feel compelled to ask." A thought struck him. "Am I in the Black Widow's apartment?"

"Haha, no. She would kill me. We're at my friend Kate's place. She's sort of my...protege? And she is far too young to be drinking that sort of thing!"

"Well I'll be sure to use lots of it so she doesn't have access anymore." Matt opened the bottle and held it away so the fumes didn't overwhelm him.

"Good idea," Clint said. He held out his hand. "Give me that."

"Give me your leg first."

With a groan, Clint shifted so his bad leg was stretched out on the couch in front of him. "Why Matt, so forward."

Matt handed Clint the whiskey and set the rags down on the back of the couch. "Hold still."

Clint grunted through a gulp of alcohol Matt gingerly felt at the swollen ankle, verifying again that it did appear only sprained. He eased off the clunky boot and used the rags to start wrapping and stabilizing the injured limb, ignoring Clint's whimpers. When he was finished, he patted Clint's calf.

"There, you're done."

"Thanks." Clint scooted to lean into the corner of the couch, leaving his leg propped up on some cushions. "All right, got any extra rags? Come over here and we'll get you fixed up next."

"Unlike you, I would rather not upset your friend by sitting on her couch. I'm going to go clean up in the bathroom. Hand me the bottle."

"What? On your own?" Clint held out the whiskey. "You helped me, not gonna let me return the favor?"

"You're welcome to try, if you can walk over there. You could stand a wipe-down yourself." Matt accepted the bottle.

"I can...hmm. Okay. Uh. Where's your cane?"

Matt snorted. "Just wait there. I'll be fine. And even if I had brought my cane with me on our hike through the city's sewage system, it's not really the kind of tool that would be good at taking your weight. It's collapsible. Using it to lean on would be about as effective as a collapsible bow."

"Ooh! I should try that!"

"For heaven's sake," Matt muttered. "I'm going to wash up now. Try not to get into more trouble."

"What? Me? What trouble could I possibly get into?"

Matt turned suddenly at the sound of a key in the lock. There was a moment's pause before a young woman's voice called out, "All right, I don't know who the hell is in my apartment, but you have thirty seconds to get the futz out."

"Kate?" Clint called. "Is that you?"

"...Clint?"

"And a guest," Clint announced.

"Goddammit." The door flew open and Kate stormed in. "What the hell, Barton? How the hell did you get in this time and good god you stink. Who's the man bleeding on my carpet?"

Matt raised a hand in a small wave. "Daredevil," he said. "Thanks for letting us crash at your place?"

"I used a key, first of all, and yes I know I stink I'm working on that but I can't walk right now because I hurt my ankle. Matt was just going to go wash up so he could stop bleeding on your carpet, and what in the world were you doing with a bottle of Jack Daniels?"

"Where did you get a key? I didn't give you one!"

"Answer the--"

"No, my apartment, I get to ask the questions."

"It was above the door," Matt said. "I don't recommend keeping a spare there in the future."

Kate blinked at him. "I don't keep a spare there." She spun to glare at Clint. "Did you hide a spare key to my apartment on the door frame? Do you realize how dangerous that is?"

"Well now I do. I didn't figure anyone would find it, though. I did hide it better than you think, though. I carved out a part of the frame and made a small sliding door for it to hide in a little drawer."

Matt kept refocusing his attention from Kate to Clint and back. "You know what, I think we've overstayed our welcome. Come on, Clint, we're going to--"

"Oh like hell you are going anywhere. You are bleeding and he can't walk, so you're going to come with me into the bathroom and we're going to get you washed and bandaged and then we're taking him to a hospital. Because apparently I'm the adult around here." She stalked over to the bathroom and threw the door open. "And that, Clint, is why I get to have whiskey in my apartment."


End file.
